


for being home to certainties

by torigates



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was after six in the morning by the time Wally made it back to their house. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It was dark. He hadn’t bothered leaving the lights on when Dick called him with the rendezvous coordinates. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours since he had kissed Artemis goodbye before the mission. Less than two since they had parted ways at the docks. </i>
</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Wally West and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad <s>Day</s> <s>Week</s> <s>Month?</s> Extended Amount of Time TBD</p>
            </blockquote>





	for being home to certainties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dudski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudski/gifts).



> This is for Sarah on the day of her birth. When I asked her what she wanted she said, "WALLY BEING MISERABLE." 
> 
> PRETTY SURE I DELIVERED.

> Bones, my thanks  
>  for your support  
>  you efforts to convince the world  
>  that I can stand up for myself.  
>  Thanks for your patience,  
>  and for being home to certainties,  
>  though they are often sad. 
> 
> \- Jan Zwicky, "Bone Song" 

 

- 

 

It was after six in the morning by the time Wally made it back to their house. 

It was dark. He hadn’t bothered leaving the lights on when Dick called him with the rendezvous coordinates. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours since he had kissed Artemis goodbye before the mission. Less than two since they had parted ways at the docks. 

_What could go wrong?_ he thought bitterly, kicking at the door as he let himself in. He flicked on the light in the front hall. Brucely was waiting patiently. He whined quietly when he noticed Artemis wasn’t there. 

“I know, buddy,” Wally said, and let the dog out. He stood in the brisk early morning air, his hands stuffed into his pockets. 

It was already starting to get light out, and there were birds chirping. Wally’s stomach was tying itself up in knots. There wasn’t much longer he could put off what had to be done, but for some reason he kept delaying. 

He clapped twice, and Brucely ran two more laps around the yard before Wally ushered him indoors. Leaving the light on, Wally locked up and made his way on foot to the nearest zeta portal.

The streets in Gotham look dark, despite the grey light growing brighter by the second. Wally trudged down the familiar streets, his limbs feeling heavier than they had in ages. Maybe forever. He still had a key to the building from back in high school. Ms Nguyen gave it to him herself, to stop him from breaking in all the time, from climbing up the fire escape. 

Wally paused outside the apartment door, fist raised to knock. When he finally does, the sound reverberated loudly through the quiet hallway. 

It took a long time for Paula to open the door. Wally can hear her on the other side of the door, getting out of bed, maneuvering the chair until she’s able to make it the short distance across the apartment. The door swung open, and Wally knelt. He owed her the courtesy--the respect--of giving her this news face to face. If he was going to lie to the woman, he could at least look her in the eye while he did it. 

Wally opened his mouth to say something--anything. His head jerked back, and he heard a loud crack before he realised she had slapped him across the face. 

He wanted to crawl into her lap and cry. She wasn’t his mother, Artemis wasn’t even dead (yet, his mind supplied helpfully), but Wally wanted nothing more than to sit on her lap and cry while she told him everything was going to be okay. 

Instead, he put his palms on the flat on her knees, and she gripped his wrists so tightly he was sure there were going to be bruises later. 

It was the least he deserved. 

 

\- 

 

Lawrence Crock arranged to have the monument erected. 

He showed up at Paula’s apartment without warning. Jade was standing behind him with Lian in her arms, an angry, unstoppable force. It took every ounce of willpower Wally possessed not to punch Sportsmaster in his fucking face as he raged to Paula about honour and insult. 

Wally had hoped Artemis would be back before Paula had to go through the pain of standing in front of her daughter’s grave. In life, Lawrence hadn’t spared a single thought for his daughter’s comfort or well being. In death, she was to be accorded every courtesy. 

Wally stood in front of a grave with Artemis’ name etched deep in stone, and everything seemed more permanent, more bleak, more real than it had when Dick sat them down on their couch in Palo Alto and explained what exactly they were going to do. Everything had made sense in that moment. Their purpose seemed clear and defined. The risks, while real and dangerous, were worth it for what they were trying to do. 

Looking at Paula Nguyen’s face, somehow years older than it had been the last time Wally had seen her, those risks, the sacrifices, and everything they were going to put the people they loved through somehow seemed so much worse. Wally held Paula’s hand and wondered how they could have been so _careless_. 

Afterward, Wally pressed his palm flat against the rough edge of the tombstone and prayed, prayed, _prayed_ with all his might that Artemis would come home. That she would be the one to tear down her father’s false monument, kick it into the ground. Into dust. 

Through his belief he had made things more farfetched than Artemis come true. Why not this? 

 

\- 

 

“Promise me,” Artemis said, back when they were discussing their options, if she would go, how they would manage, how Wally would make do. “Promise me you’ll finish out the year.” 

Wally wanted to object. Had objected. There were things he could be doing to help her. To help the team. But Artemis insisted. If she was going to put her degree behind by a semester (they weren’t talking about the possibility of longer), she wasn’t going to let Wally do the same. 

“Your parents would never forgive me,” she said, laughing. 

Wally knew there were many things for which his parents would not forgive him. He wasn’t sure falling behind on his coursework was one of them. Not when there were bigger things going on. More important things. 

“There _aren’t_ more important things,” Artemis said, and that was just not true. “Promise me,” she repeated, and Wally knew he was a goner. He was, and always had been hopeless in front of her. 

So he promised. 

He tossed his keys on the table by the door when he came back into the house. Brucely was still waiting for him. Silently judging, Wally felt. 

He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Closed it. Opened it again. It was fully stocked. Artemis had done groceries before she left. Had joked about not leaving him to fend for himself. Wally had blinked back tears and pulled her close against his side. 

He pulled out the ingredients for a sandwich and made himself something to eat. When that was done he sat at the kitchen table staring at his food, his stomach churning. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, though he’s certain Paula put food in front of him back at her apartment before sending him home. Did he eat it? Wally wasn’t sure. 

The calendar by the fridge indicated it was March 21. Artemis had a midterm coming up on Friday. Wally had two next week. He hadn’t started studying yet. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and scrolled quickly through the contacts. Pressed dial when he got to the one he wanted. 

Conner picked up after three rings. 

“Wally,” he said. 

Wally’s voice stuck in his throat, heavy with acid. He swallowed twice around the bile before he was able to find his words. 

“Hey, buddy,” he managed at last. “Happy birthday.” 

Conner’s humourless laugh came through the phone line, sounding shaky. “Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t have to call.” 

“No,” Wally said. “I did. I did. I’m sorry I’m not there--” 

“Hey,” Conner said. “That’s not important. Dick told me where you were today. I understand.” 

Did he? _Would_ he, when the truth came out? It had seem so reasonable at the time. The less people who knew, the better. The safer it would be for Kaldur and for Artemis. Now, listening to Conner’s quiet voice on the other end of the phone while Wally lied to him about his grief, and his pain, on Conner’s _birthday_ no less, he wasn’t so sure about that. 

Dick had seemed sure, once. Everything had seemed clear. Necessary. 

“I’m sorry,” Conner said after a long moment of silence. 

“Yeah,” Wally said. “Yeah, I’m sorry too.” 

Conner coughed, awkward. The two of them had never been good at the inane, small talk portion of a friendship. They worked better face to face where they could sit in silence playing video games, or doing other individual tasks. Wally felt far away from Conner, now. He felt far away from everyone else in a way that he hadn’t at all since college. 

It had always been him and Artemis. They left the team behind. Left the life behind, but they hadn’t cut themselves off from their friends, not by any means. Dick, Conner, Meg, Zatanna, and the rest of the team were always a phone call, or short zeta ride away. 

Their home had always felt safe, protected. Now, it felt claustrophobic. Isolating. And Wally had to live there alone for the foreseeable future. 

“Call if you need anything,” Conner said. “I mean it.” 

“I will,” Wally said. “You too. Take care, Supey.” 

 

\- 

 

The next three days were the most hellish of Wally’s life, but if he had known what was coming after them, he probably would have clung to them a lot harder. 

He went to class, tried to handle the people who offered their condolences, tried to make it through the fucking day without just screaming his guts out. 

Artemis wasn’t dead. She _wasn’t_ dead. Wasn’t dead, wasn’t dead, wasn’t dead. He chanted it over and over, over and over, as if the more times he said it, the more real it would be. She isn’t dead, she’s going to come home, he would see her again. 

Wally had to pretend Artemis was dead. Her safety, her livelihood, her everything, depended on him pretending she was dead. Wally’s own sanity, however, demanded that he forcibly, and visibly remind himself that she was still out there, somewhere. 

“No, I don’t want to go fucking home!” Wally screamed at the fifth person who asked him if wouldn’t he really rather be at home right now? Would he like to take some time to himself? 

No. No he wouldn’t. Artemis wasn’t at their house, and every time he walked in the door Brucely looked at him with those big brown eyes, accusing. Where was she? Where was Artemis?

Wally stormed out of his class, upset and terrified. Now he would need to speak to his prof and apologize. Now everyone would just look at him more, whisper behind his back. There’s the boy with the dead girlfriend. Did you hear? His girlfriend is dead, and he had a meltdown in one of his chem labs. 

In the hallway, he took several deep breaths. Trying--trying and failing--to get a hold on himself. He walked back to the house, his feet weighing him down, unable to run. 

Barry was at the house when he got back. So were his parents. Wally waved awkwardly when he walked in the door to find them sitting on the couch. 

His lies burned heavy in the pit of his stomach, but when his mom held out her arms Wally wasn’t strong enough to resist. 

“Sweetie,” his mom said gently. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come home? I don’t like the idea of you in this big house all by yourself.” 

Wally shook his head where it was pressed against her shoulder. He did not deserve their sympathy. 

They left. 

His phone woke him up, what felt like only moments after his head hit the pillow Wednesday night. The clock on the far side of the bed (Artemis’ side of the bed) read just after two in the morning. His phone was still ringing. 

“Hello?” he asked, not bothering to check the caller id. “Artemis?” 

“Honey, no,” his mom’s voice came through loud and clear. It was full of sorrow and sympathy, and Wally almost couldn’t bear to hear it. 

“Mom?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“Wally,” she said again, in that careful way of hers. It was the same voice she used when his goldfish died when he was six, when he woke up in the hospital at thirteen. “There’s been an explosion at Happy Harbor. The Cave...” she trailed off. 

Wally choked on nothing. “What--what happened? Mom?” 

“Honey, I don’t know. Iris called. Something--something happened. I think you better get down there probably. We don’t know who was there, if anyone was inside.” 

“Inside the Cave?” he asked. His mind was moving slowly. His body was moving slowly, as if his limbs did not belong to him. He struggled to climb out from under the sheets. “Mom, what happened?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded desperate. Shaky. 

“The Cave--honey, it’s gone.” 

Wally swallowed around ash and bile. Choked on a sob. “Mom, I--I gotta go. I gotta get there. I gotta--go.” 

“I know,” she said. “Come over after,” she said. 

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Wally,” she said, voice fierce. 

He promised. 

 

\- 

 

Wally was pretty sure he failed his midterms. What with Artemis’ death and the destruction of the Cave three days later, Wally felt like he hadn’t had any sleep in over a week. 

The calendar next to their fridge still had all of Artemis’ tests and assignments written out in her tight, neat handwriting. Every time Wally looked at it, he fought down the urge to pull it down off the wall, to cover it up, tear it into a million little pieces so he could pretend Artemis wasn’t gone, or maybe that she had never been there in the first place. 

He went to class, did his homework, made it through to the end of the semester, through the end of finals. Sometimes, Dick called to tell him what was going on, how the mission was going, the _progress_ they were making, and Wally had to pretend-- _tried_ to pretend--that he didn’t want to punch Dick Grayson in his smug fucking mouth. 

Wally tried to remember all the reasons why Artemis had agreed to this mission in the first place. Tried to remember all the reasons he wanted to be a hero. Tried to remember Dick sitting in their living room, the afternoon light streaming in through the window as he explained the risks, the dangers, why it was necessary. And before that--tried to remember Dick Grayson as he was in a red top, black tights, and a cape. The boy who made the hard calls, and hated himself for it. The boy who tried to keep things from Wally because he knew he was emotionally compromised. Wally tried to remember the boy who, at thirteen years old, decided he wanted to be a superhero and went out and fucking did it. The girl who, despite everything and everyone she ever knew became the best fucking person Wally knew. 

Wally tried, he really fucking tried to remember all of those things, because they had been important, once. Had meant something to him. He paced around their house, but nothing felt right. His skin felt too tight for his body, and sometimes he was so scared he couldn’t fucking breathe. The things in their house, the stuff--junk, really--that had meant so much to him, had symbolized their chance at a life together, felt empty and grey. Almost as if they would turn to ash if Wally looked at them for too long. 

None of it mattered. Artemis wasn’t there.

Around him, it seemed like the world was ending. Maybe Wally couldn’t remember why he had started along this path, but there was one good reason to finish it. He promised Artemis he would finish the school year, and he had. He kept his promise, but he had also sworn to himself that Artemis would come home, and he wasn’t going to get that done sitting on his ass. He wasn’t going to get that done being angry at Dick. He wasn’t going to get that done in any other way except by doing it. 

Artemis needed him, and Dick could spout all the progress reports he wanted, could talk about things advancing smoothly, but Wally was smart enough to read between the lines. It didn’t take a genius to figure out things weren’t going according to plan. All he had to do to was turn on the evening news, or look out the fucking window. He packed a bag, not bothering to take much with him. He would be back with Artemis, or he wouldn’t come back at all. Grabbed Brucely’s leash off the wall.

His feet were heavy, his heart was sore. 

It was time to get back in the game.

**Author's Note:**

> From tumblr:
>
>> real friendship is sending them a link to something terrible so you can both be traumatized at the same time
> 
> LOVE YOU, SARAH!!!!!!!!!!!


End file.
